Dissolution
by Lady of Pride
Summary: The American Revolution never ended. Matthew just happens to be the only one that realizes this...  England/Canada; America/Canada .


A/N: This is what happens when I let my muses out for a little fresh air. They hijack my computer and either play Tetris or mess around with my brain children.

My apologies...

**Title:** Dissolution

**Rating**: R (?)

**Warnings**: sex and a hint of dub-con; use of human-nation names

**Disclaimer**: Unfortunately, I don't own Hetalia.

**Side-note**: The snippet begins sometime after the American Revolution, just prior to Canada's own independence, and ends directly after the nation becomes a 'dominion' (which first included Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia before all our other provinces/territories made a home for themselves and jumped aboard the bandwagon).

**Side-note #2**: I don't hate England. At_ all. _Seriously, I'm Canadian, and I like the Brits, and I actually _really_ like Arthur's character, but my muses were in one of their moods, and, well... My sincerest apologies. (England isn't evil!)

**Pairings**: one-sided England/Canada; hinted America/Canada

_**Summary**__:__ The American Revolution never ended. Matthew just happens to be the only one that realizes this (England/Canada; America/Canada)._

* * *

If he had to be honest with himself, he wishes he was anywhere but here.

—'_a man of propriety, you know. Unlike his __**brother**__'—_

He doesn't have to strain himself to hear the spite in their voices. Bitter. _Presumptuous_... Some things never change. England is a gentleman in many ways, but his people are too old for their own good. They've grown to think they know it all, that there's nothing that can surprise them.

This world is full of little people...

—'_will always be rewarded. The Loyalists are'—_

Cowards?

He often wonders...

There's still a part of him that believes he didn't try hard enough to hear Alfred out, that perhaps there was something else he could've said or done to keep the peace between them. The American Revolution is over now but no one's really won.

How long will it take them to realize that?

And Francis...

...Betrayed him again, first for his sugar colonies and now for Alfred. Matthew can't find the strength enough to feel surprised. Was the man hoping to see his son ravaged?

Was he _really_ worth so little?

—'_absolutely charming'—_

—'_quiet. Knows his place'—_

—'_not the least bit like'—_

His brother.

...He misses his brother.

* * *

He doesn't travel often. Not across the sea. Not to Arthur. His people are still trying to bud beneath the fields of the ice and snow. Their time will come someday, he knows, and then perhaps he'll amass to something.

...Maybe.

Arthur finds him after the banquet, still somehow taller by half an inch, even after the beating he took from their brother. Even so, he pales in comparison to way Alfred seems to loom over everyone.

Somewhere along the line, Alfred had burst through the seams, ever-growing—ever-_lusting—_ over power and land, and Canada foresees no end to his brother's obsession of stretching himself far beyond his limits. His cities will burn before the goliath that is America sees reason, and even then, maybe not...

Canada has been privy enough to witness both sides of his brother in action. The sinner and the saint. It is for this reason alone that he can't hate him without remembering that he loves him.

Compassion has always been his greatest weakness.

He genuinely misses him, none the less.

Here, in England, he is an ornament. England's colony. England's companion. England's hand in the New World. Matthew is but an extension of something bigger—something _'greater'_—than he could ever hope to achieve. He has land and an abundance of common sense, but his growth is stunted by the walls they've built around him and he's beginning to feel suffocated by the way these men and women leer at him like a prize well-earned.

Vaguely, he wonders if he'll ever be free.

Arthur's gentle touch on his arm is the close to their evening. They pardon themselves from the hostess and leave without another word.

Matthew's world feels hollow.

* * *

When Arthur fucks him, it's without resentment or hate. Though he had never touched Matthew before Alfred left, he is as gentle and as considerate as anyone could ever expect him to be, an honest surprise considering how much Matthew looks like his brother.

For this, at least, he is thankful.

He watches the way Arthur screws his eyes shut as he rocks above him, pinning him down only hard enough to let him know that he's staying until they're finished. And when he reaches the pinnacle of his pleasure, head bowed, lips hovering close to a kiss, Matthew tightens his legs around his narrow waist and they ride it out together. Throats on fire. Screaming like the damned.

Matthew would tear down this house if he had the power.

Then he'd tear down Alfred's too, for good measure.

He's reeled back into reality by the heavy weight on his chest. They detach from one another and he collapses on the ruined sheets.

Outside the window, the stars are shining.

* * *

When he wins his own independence, the Dominion of Canada has a private audience with his brother. Upon request, of course, otherwise he would've avoided Alfred altogether.

Alfred sizes him up when they finally meet and it's either longing or fear that flashes across his face before he can compose himself again. It's almost enough to break Matthew's heart, but he hides his pain behind his hand as he brushes his bangs out of his eyes, and goes on pretending like it was never there to begin with.

There'll be a time for that another day...

The hand that clasps Matthew's is firm but genial. The smile is genuine.

It feels nice.

"Congratulations, Mattie."

...He thinks, perhaps, they can start from scratch.

...

"Thank you."

* * *

A/N: ...I don't know what this is. I've been drafting a longer story but part of me just needed to vent. I apologize for splattering this across your computer screen.

*bows head*


End file.
